39 Best Restaurants in Tokyo

Pulsating with energy and dripping with Michelin stars, Tokyo is the place to be for food lovers right now. From humble yakitori joints serving skewered grilled chicken, to multi-course traditional kaiseki feasts, dishes are prepared with care and respect for seasonal ingredients. But the city’s culinary greatness isn’t limited to Japanese cuisine: There’s phenomenal Italian, refined Chinese, and a genre-defying style of French that deserves a category of its own. “It’s getting hard to eat anywhere else, because Tokyo has it all and does everything better,” a world-weary Brazilian gastronaut confessed recently. We agree completely. Read on for our picks for some of the best places to eat when you're in Tokyo.

Chef Luca Fantin’s artful interpretations of Italian classics are made exclusively with produce from Japan, but "the flavors are completely Italian," he says. "I don’t put shoyu (soy sauce) on my pasta or use yuzu (Japanese citrus) on anything. I’m not interested in making fusion." His cooking is focused and precise. A single raviolo filled with smoked burrata broth and topped with caviar from Miyazaki Prefecture is a silky, luxurious mouthful. There is showmanship in the deconstructed minestrone soup, a clear broth adorned with gem-toned root vegetable marbles, while simplicity is the key to the fresh pasta and sea urchin, finished with lemon and colatura di alici.

You might think you’ve wandered into a neighborhood cycling shop after stepping into this warmly lit shoebox. And you would be right. Partially. Salmon & Trout's previous incarnation remains firmly part of its present, as evidenced by rows of electric bikes hanging from '60s-style square arch windows and spare parts poking out of wire boxes stored behind the tiny drinks counter. These days, locals come here for Kan Morieda's modern and daring fusion cuisine.

The restaurant specializes in tonkatsu (breaded pork cutlets), fried to a golden crisp and served with a sweet-and-tangy Worcester-style sauce alongside a heaping mound of shredded cabbage (use the homemade ponzu sauce to dress your greens). What sets Butagumi apart is its list of more than 50 varieties of premium pork from all over Japan, as well as Iberico Bellota from Spain. Pig-pink snout stamps on the menu (available in Japanese and English) indicate the daily offerings. On a recent visit, we enjoyed the subtle flavor of imo-buta sirloin from neighboring Chiba Prefecture with a frothy glass of Ebisu Kohaku draft beer.

The first thing you notice when you slide open the door to this yakitori specialist, plonked beneath a highway overpass in Shirokane, is the hiss and pop of succulent chicken pieces slow-roasting over binchotan charcoal embers. The open-kitchen interior is fairly basic, with two charcoal grills and several black stools around the counter. The menu, however, is not. On any given day, there are up to 40 chicken parts for diners to choose from.

Chef Motoyoshi's deep-fried delicacies are fantastically light, sheathed in a crisp coating of golden batter that owes its crunch to a mixture of canola and sesame oil. He has a knack for vegetables, which he ferries from Tsukiji market on the back of his motorbike every day. Among his signatures are succulent Takagime peppers from Kyoto, pudding-like croquettes of sweet Japanese corn, and myoga wild Japanese ginger buds.

The Blind Donkey is an oasis of verdant foliage hidden in the narrow alleyways of Kanda Station. Although it's a relative newcomer, the restaurant feels lived-in, homey, and California-ish in a cool, cozy way. The Blind Donkey sources ingredients from organic farms around the country; each item is described by its farm or region of origin. Fatty proteins such as duck liver and pork pate shine on their own, devoid of sauces or any heavy-handed accoutrements, whereas other dishes are heartier and more complex.

Shirosaka has all the trappings of a classic kaiseki restaurant: an immaculate wooden interior, a window that looks out onto a placid miniature garden, and a serious-faced chef working quietly behind the counter. Despite appearances, there's no buttoned-up formality here—Chef Hideki Ii just wants you to have fun. Tokyo-born Ii, who trained in Sydney and spent three years in New York cooking for the Japanese ambassador, combines traditional and modern techniques into a highly personal style of kappo-ryori (kaiseki’s less formal cousin). The tasting menu sparkles with dishes that are almost too pretty to eat, and the short and sweet drink menu is all about approachable sake and wine.

Florilège is the kind of restaurant that could get by on looks alone. At the center of the space is an open kitchen with a charcoal-grey stone counter that doubles as a plating station and a display for lavish ikebana floral installations. The dramatic setting is the perfect stage for the Japanese-inflected modernist French cooking dreamt up by Hiroyasu Kawate, who trained under the legendary chef Shuzo Kishida at Quintessence before striking out on his own. "I want to create the kind of food that you can only have here, in my restaurant," he explains of his mission to stand out in both aesthetics and cuisine.

A5 wagyu beef, that most decadent of meats, is king here. Order ``a la carte, or put your trust in the personable and helpful servers, who will happily cobble together a customized tasting menu based on how much you’re willing to shell out (¥4,000 - ¥5,000 should suffice). We love the beef tongue, heart, and other innards, but the seared wagyu sushi, layered on rice boiled in genmai-cha (roasted rice tea), and the thinly sliced sirloin dipped in raw egg are all-around crowd pleasers. You’ll need a beer to wash down the garlicky kimchee, but whisky highballs work just as well.

Specializing in premium wagyu steaks from Mie Prefecture, Satou is a cross between the Benihana of your suburban childhood and a neighborhood diner from the '80s, complete with wallet-friendly prices. Its black-and-red interior is anchored by a smoking teppanyaki iron griddle, and though the chefs sport tall, white toques, don't expect them to do any knife tricks. Try to snatch one of the six seats at the counter (it’s first-come, first-serve) to get the full olfactory effect of buttery wagyu as it sizzles on the grill.

There’s no menu at this chilled-out izakaya, so state your preferences and let patron-chef Kotaro Hayashi choose something for you. The food respects tradition but is not bound by it, and Hayashi’s hipster-like affinity for the handcrafted comes through in every dish. The meal ends with hand-cut udon noodles made fresh every day—sometimes topped with daikon, crispy tempura crumbs, and a squeeze of lemon, or, alternately, served with raw egg, butter, and soy sauce.

Like all kaiseki restaurants, Ishikawa is all about details. It's held on to its three Michelin stars since the red book made its Tokyo debut in 2008, and the super-refined cuisine is all about top-quality Japanese ingredients. The 10-course tasting menu is a paean to the seasons: baby sweetfish the size of your pinky in summer, deep-fried croquettes made with sea turtle and lotus root in winter. Ishikawa has a winning way with grilled fish, which pairs with the impressive selection of sake and wine. On a recent visit, horsehead snapper was buttery with perfectly crisped skin. But the clay-pot rice dish with scallops, presented tableside by the chef, stole the show.

Old-school and proud, Tonki still serves tonkatsu (breaded pork cutlets) the way it did when the restaurant first opened in 1939. The brightly lit space, with its blonde-wood interior and rows of half-dome pendulum lights, was refurbished in the 70s, but not much else has changed. The restaurant features a wide-open kitchen surrounded by wooden counters on three sides, where a brigade of assiduous chefs with white caps work in assembly-line fashion.

Hakkoku is as nondescript as it gets; after all, with just six seats, the room's only main feature is the wooden sushi bar itself. Chef Hiroyuki Sato stands on the opposing side, slicing away raw fish with fastidious care. The omakase consists of 30 individual pieces of sushi—nigiri and maki only—and each is a self-contained masterpiece. The opening salvo, a nori roll filled with finely chopped tuna, is the solitary string note that launches a grand concierto.

Few reasons compel us to make the 30-minute trek outside of central Tokyo to downtown Minami-senju, but Obana, established in the Meiji Era and revered as one of the area's best unagi restaurants for hundreds of years, is one of them. Once you’ve made it through the stone gate and past the line that curves, Disneyland-style, into a U-formation, slip off your shoes and settle into a seat at one of the low tables on the tatami-mat floor in the sprawling dining room.

Just past the massive Edo-Tokyo Museum in the eastern neighborhood of Ryogoku, home to the capital’s sumo stadium, Hosokawa is easily identifiable by the line of devoted soba fans standing outside at lunchtime. Here, Chef Tadashi Hosokawa uses 100-percent freshly milled buckwheat flour to make his legendary noodles. The texture is delightful, featuring a heft and pleasant chewiness that wheat-flour noodles lack. Dipped in a smoky soy-based sauce that complements the nutty flavor of the buckwheat, Hosokawa’s soba tastes best with a side of delicate anago eel tempura or juicy, flash-fried kamonasu eggplant. If you're here at the height of summer, go for the soba with pureed okra in a chilled dashi broth.

We’d go there just to shoot the breeze with Michimasa Nakamura, Shin’s jovial, baby-faced head chef and owner, whose eyes light up as he watches you enjoy the food. “I became a chef because I wanted to make people happy,” he says. He knows his sake well, and his sushi, made with lightly seasoned rice that's never too salty or vinegary, is always on point.

While some miss the quiet intimacy of Den’s original location (a two-story house in the off-the-beaten-track neighborhood of Jimbocho), no one can resist the convivial charm of its new digs in central Tokyo. “I wanted to create a more family-like atmosphere, where everyone can be together,” says chef-patron Zaiyu Hasegawa of the new location. The open-plan kitchen remains the same, but instead of an eight-seat counter, there’s a long, wooden table that can seat 12—maybe more—as well as a couple of small tables.

Ode is gray, industrial, and concrete. The coldness belies the warmth that emanates from chef Yusuke Namai and his open kitchen. Yasuke positions his concept as an "ode to you," and yes, the service here is delicate and exceptional. But don't let the stark surroundings fool you—this place is first and foremost an homage to French cuisine. The food is whimsical yet unwavering, and the wow-factor increases as the night wears on.

Walk under a triptych of noren banners to arrive in Udon Maruka, a noodle heaven with a small kitchen bordered by a bar that seats about 12 diners. But the restaurant is a well-oiled machine, and deep umami aromas leave little doubt as to why fans are willing to wait in 45-minute queues just to get their hands on a bowl. If you're visiting Japan and only have one day for a casual lunch, come here—and come hungry. This is the platonic ideal of the thick noodle, with an awe-inspiring kakejiru, or dashi broth. Assemble with chopped scallions and the house speciality: chikuwa-ten, a lightly fried fish sausage.

With a wait between 30 minutes and two hours, you earn your noodles at Tokyo's foremost ramen shop, Fu-unji. Here, a creamy chicken soup is blended with fish powder to make a gravy-like dipping sauce for your noodles. It's a flavor that barely exists outside of Japan.

With a worn wooden counter and handful of small tables, this charming, old-school watering hole invites a crowd as eclectic as the music, which swings from '90s hip-hop to J-pop and, on occasion, heavy metal. Diners gravitate here for chef Masato Takano's satisfying seafood dishes and extensive, ever-changing list of sake. Come here to drink a little too much and laugh a little too loud.

You never know what eclectic ingredients you might see scattered around this cozy ramen shop, which caters to a host of businessmen-regulars who often spend their whole lunch breaks waiting for noodles in the (admittedly lengthy) line.

At the heart of Falò, a sleek and cavernous basement izakaya, is a gleaming open kitchen with a massive stone grill, where the signature slow-cooked dishes are prepared. Charcoal-grilled porchetta served in meaty slabs is the chef's speciality, but the roasted duck breast, rubbed with a mix of sansho pepper, charred onion, and fennel powder, is the runaway star. Pastas and natural wines round out the menu, and since portions are meant for sharing, you'll want to come here with friends.

A connection to land is the cornerstone of Chef Shinobu Namae’s genre-blurring haute cuisine, which he describes as "post-colonial cooking." In simplest terms, he applies modern French techniques to Japanese ingredients, and his signature dish couldn't exemplify that more: a tender, whole Japanese turnip that, after a four-hour sous-vide preparation, is sauteed in butter and sprinkled with brioche crumbs.

Chef Mikio Takaishi's unique spin on the multicourse kaiseki feast will surprise you. The specialty at Ichigo is oden, a humble stew of simmered seafood and vegetables that's more frequently associated with casual izakaya pubs and convenience stores. It’s a bold menu choice for a two-Michelin-starred establishment, but Takaishi pulls it off with flair. The key is the dashi broth, which gets its oomph from freshly shaved bonito flakes. Choose from the ingredients listed on the hand-written menu—the airy hanpen fish cakes, daikon radish, and ebi-imo taro root are our favorites. The creamy sesame tofu, grilled tableside over charcoal embers, is a special treat.

A good wagyu burger is hard to find in Tokyo, but thankfully, there’s Henry’s, the down-to-earth cousin of luxe yakiniku specialist Sumibi Yakiniku Nakahara. With a red-and-silver interior and only four bar stools at a counter, this tiny burger joint is as pared-down as its menu, which features sets of 100-percent filler-free wagyu burgers in three patty sizes (single, double, or triple) with fries and a drink.

Chef Junichi Onuki is the opposite of the strict sushi-chef stereotype portrayed in movies like Jiro Dreams of Sushi. “I am not a scary sushi chef,” he says with a chuckle. He certainly won't shush or rush you: “I want people to feel relaxed when they come to my restaurant.” Cheerful, laid-back, and fluent in English, Onuki opened Isana Sushi Bar in 2012 after spending nearly a decade in London as the sushi chef at Zuma. On the ground floor of the Hotel S in Roppongi, the space is warm and glowing with seven counter seats and two tables.

Ryugin’s name means “dragon’s voice,” and chef Seiji Yamamoto’s revolutionary approach to traditional kaiseki—he once used a CT scanner to examine the skeleton of a pike eel—has made him a living legend. In recent years, he's adopted a more subdued aesthetic, but his highly refined dishes prove that he’s still at the top of his game. Seafood is his wheelhouse, and his product-driven and cleverly technical dishes are meant for serious foodies.

The unassuming location of Fukamachi belies its illustrious reputation as one of Tokyo’s best tempura restaurants. The space is tight, with 12 seats at an L-shaped counter and a couple of narrow tables. You'll need a reservation and once seated, do as the locals and order a bottle of Kirin and sip your beer as you watch the chefs masterfully prepare your meal.

Pioneering pizzaiolo Susumu Kakinuma learned the art of pizza-making in Naples and has spent more than 20 years of his life perfecting these pies. The menu at this Nakameguro spot offers only two types of pizza: margherita, topped simply with mozzarella, tomatoes, and basil; and marinara, spiked with fragrant oregano and doused with olive oil. Both have the chewy, airy, and tantalizingly blistered crust that comes from spending less than 60 seconds in the 900-degree, wood-fired oven. Pastas and appetizers such as octopus salad are also available, but you’re better off sticking to the pizza and washing it down with a beer or two.

When self-taught butcher Kentaro Nakahara became a chef more than 15 years ago, no one was using premium wagyu beef for yakiniku, the Japanese version of Korean barbecue that's closely associated with beer-soaked grill pubs and cheap cuts of meat. Today, he’s on a mission to elevate the genre to the level of fine dining. On any given day, you can find him at Tokyo’s Shibaura meat market investigating the provenance, age, and ancestry of the Tajima cows he buys whole; at night, he'll be behind the counter in his chef’s whites, hair tied up in a blue-and-white do-rag, gleaming knife in hand.

Fish burgers, marinated between blades of kelp, fried to a golden crisp, and topped with a dashi-spiked tofu sauce, are the speciality here. The umami-rich creation is the brainchild of Shinya Kudo, Deli Fu Cious's skateboard-loving head chef. After spending 14 years making sushi at Tokyo's top restaurants, Kudo turned his talents to the art of fish sandwiches and opened Deli Fu Cious at the tail end of 2016. His recipes became instant classics: There’s the anago hot dog, a tempura-battered piece of sea eel drizzled with a thick, slightly sweet soy-based sauce; the creamy crab croquette burger; and the substantial aji (horse mackerel) burger with a side of pickled ginger. Our favorite item, however, is the saikyo-yaki sandwich, made with a grilled fillet of miso-marinated Spanish mackerel and simply dressed with lettuce and tomato.

Chiune is minimalist and magical. Step off the crowded streets and into this solemn sanctuary, which bears no opportunity for distraction from its unbridled culinary ambition. The tasting menu here combines elements of French presentation with the flavors of mainland China. At some point in the evening, the signature dish—a charcoal-grilled lamb—arrives. Try and savor it—you'll be thinking about it for years to come.

Its name translates literally to “sushi shop,” but Sushi-ya is far from ordinary. Hidden down a narrow alley in the Ginza district (and next-door to a dubious-looking “fetish bar”), the eight-seat restaurant has become the darling of food bloggers and Instagramming gastronauts, thanks to chef Takao Ishiyama's gift of the gab (he speaks near-fluent English) and superb knife skills. Like all serious sushi shops, the décor is both minimalist and elegant (all the better to focus your attention on the fish) with blonde wood and beige walls, plus a tasteful ikebana flower arrangement in the corner.

Tsuta earned the first Michelin star for a ramen shop in Japan, a feat that made gourmet headlines. The star comes from Tsuta's attention to detail: Noodles are made in house from a blend of Japanese flour.; chickens for the soup are sourced from Akita Prefecture; a soy sauce blend using craft shoyu from a small island in the Seto Inland Sea; and a homemade truffle sauce to accent already deep flavors. This is to say, everything is spot on.

Pizza Studio Tamaki, a small storefront under a sizable neon sign, houses a wood-fired pizza oven—and little else. Perhaps you need a reprieve from all the noodles, sushi, and teppanyaki; if so, this is as good an escape as any. The chef here is a perfectionist, and you can sense it in every Neapolitan-style pie exiting his oven. The crust is charred at proper intervals; the proportions of cheese, sauce, and toppings is sublime. Meat-eaters should try the Bismarck, topped with a house-made sausage and farmhouse egg.

In 2005, Yoshiaki Takazawa made headlines when he opened his eponymous Japanese-French fusion restaurant—then called Aronia de Takazawa—in a secluded atelier with only eight seats in the business district of Akasaka. Reservations were notoriously hard to come by and available solely via email, further fueling the mystique. The restaurant’s fame skyrocketed when it caught the attention of Alinea’s Grant Achatz, who continues to be a fan (last year, Achatz did a tribute to Takazawa’s cuisine at Next in Chicago). These days, it’s a little easier to book, but just barely: The restaurant now seats 10 at two black tables.

The first thing you see when you step through the entrance of Onogi, a contemporary small plates spot in Hiroo, is an uprooted tree suspended by fishing wire like a giant piece of ikebana. Those beguiling naked branches encapsulate chef Shigeki Onogi’s product-driven style of cooking, which strikes the perfect balance between creative and comforting. The intimate, open-kitchen space makes you feel right at home.